


Savasana

by sporklift



Category: Crazy Ex-Girlfriend (TV)
Genre: (is that spelled sub-s-e-x), (no, Canon Divergent, Cunnilingus, F/F, SO, Vaginal Fingering, Valencia Centric, a lot of subtext, and tbh even though Becks is only in the frame of this story, no it's not), overuse of internet references, overuse of yoga terms, sadly becuase they'd be so fantastic together, you have to wonder why she keeps on popping up in V's mind y'feel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-10
Updated: 2016-12-10
Packaged: 2018-09-07 14:21:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8804254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sporklift/pseuds/sporklift
Summary: Rebecca’s gone to visit her mother for Passover. It’s a solid week for Valencia and Heather to bond on their own. If you can call this “bonding.” 
 
  Basically, the non-musical reprise of “Oh My God, I Think I Like You” featuring Heather and Valencia that nobody asked for or wanted. 
 
Takes place after 2x06, probably in the semi-distant future.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I regret nothing.

 Valencia’s sitting next to Heather on the couch, munching on celery and carrot sticks. Or, well, Valencia is munching on celery and carrot sticks. Heather has a soft pretzel. Valencia hasn’t moved, other than to take the vegetables from the platter to her lips, sitting prim and proper. Heather’s reclining back against the cushions, staring blankly at the TV. 

“Y’know,” Valencia begins, crunching a stick of celery between her teeth. “Nothing’s happened for the past few days.” 

“Probably has something to do with Rebecca being in New York.” Heather’s tongue peeks out from her lips to lick the salt off the pretzel as she speaks. 

“But still, you’d think we could find something to do.” 

Heather chortles. “Like what?” 

“I...I don’t...know.” Valencia pauses, thinking of all the hijinks Rebecca had been responsible for. How things seemed so...conventional here, watching movies, with Heather, sans-Rebecca. She didn’t even realize how much she’d gotten used to the hijinks until they were suspended. “How long is Passover anyway?” 

“Eight days.” 

“So, six more days.” 

“Yep.” 

Valencia chomps down into another stick of celery. Heather twists her head towards Valencia. She can feel those calm, collected eyes on her. 

“You bored?” 

“There are only so many Hallmark movies I can watch in a day.” 

Heather glares at her, face belied by her deadpan tone. “These movies are incredible.” 

“But, after two days?” 

“You keep coming back here.” 

“You invited me over.” 

Heather pauses for a moment, and Valencia can’t help but perk up at the delicious idea of silencing someone as typically forceful as Heather. It’s an odd  win. 

But Heather, in true Heather fashion, changes the subject. “Whatever. You wanna play a game?” 

 

 

And that’s how they ended up sitting on the ground, lotus-legged, with a line of shot glasses. Heather doesn’t have the stuff for any good shots, so they had vodka with an orange juice chaser. “The name of the game is  I’ve Never…” 

 

 

“I’ve never been in the snow.” 

Valencia gapes. “Hey! You know I’ve been skiing!” 

“That’s the point of this game.” Heather widens her grin. She lifts a shot glass to Valencia’s lips. “Drink.” 

 

 

“I’ve never dated anyone more than a year older than me.” 

“You’ve only dated one person.” 

“ That’s the point.” 

Heather glares: “Touche.” 

 

“I’ve never lived alone.” 

 

“I’ve never gone to community college.” 

 

“I’ve never been to a yoga retreat.” 

 

This game, turns out, is more difficult when you know your opponent well. As the alcohol starts to get to Valencia’s brain, she’s having trouble keeping up with the logic. She’s had four shots by now. It blurts out. 

“I’ve never had an orgasm.” 

Still chasing her last shot with the orange juice, Heather chokes out a splutter. “ What?” 

Valencia cringes and backpedals fast as she can. “Wait. No. That was stupid. Let me go again--” 

“No. No.” Heather turns towards Valencia. it’s probably the liquor but Valencia’s chest is fluttering. “Go back. You were in a relationship for ten years and you’ve  never  had an orgasm?” 

Right about now Valencia could curl up into child’s pose. She could curl into a small enough ball to disappear. She shrugs. “I just...I was sixteen when I lost it…” 

“‘It’ isn’t a thing, but go on.” 

Valencia glares. “ Anyway . I guess I started to fake it...eventually...that just became what I did.” 

“Okay. I know what we need to do now. Screw the game; we’re getting you laid.” 

 

 

Heather helps Valencia make a Tinder profile. She suggests photos. Valencia blames the alcohol for the way her cheeks heat up when Heather comments on any number of her physical attributes. It’s obvious she’s being honest. Valencia isn’t going to pretend she doesn’t have an amazing physique, but there’s something in the way Heather draws attention to specific things. Things like how her legs look especially long in this photo, or how her curves pop against the backdrop. That was the beginning and end of the fun part. And then they were gazing through various pictures of greasy-looking guys, gazing into the camera with blank stares. 

“What about him?” Heather suggests. “He can meet you in a bar in five minutes.” 

Valencia wrinkles her nose. “No. He’s….gross.” 

Heather rolls her eyes. She swipes left. “What about him?” 

“Too tall.” 

“Him?”

“Too hairy.”

 “This guy?”

“Heather, I have  _standards_.” 

 

They’ve been at this long enough to come down from their buzz. Maybe Valencia isn’t cut out for this Single-Ready-To-Mingle thing, because she hasn’t wanted to right-swipe a single guy. And, she can tell Heather’s getting annoyed. But it’s not her fault everybody on the Internet is...below her standards. 

 

It goes on for five more minutes. They’ve reached the bottom of the orange juice carton, when Heather puts down Valencia’s phone. She runs her hand through her hair. “Y’know, if you don’t want to do this, you can tell me.” 

“Hey, it’s not my fault the Internet doesn’t have any attractive options for guys.” 

Heather stops. “For guys?” She asks, in her slow hypnotic drawl. 

Valencia purses her lips, seeing the wheels in Heather’s head turning but not sure what they were getting at. 

“So I’ve never actually asked you,” Heather says, adjusting her sitting position to face Valencia. Her tongue darts out over her bottom lip, fringing against the skin. “What’s your deal?” 

“My what?” Valencia blinks. 

“Where do you fall on the Kinsey scale?” Heather starts to ask, but seeing the nonrecognition in Valencia’s eyes, she rewords herself: “Are you into girls? Like, at all.” 

“What?” Valencia starts. 

“Are you into girls?” 

“Are  you?” 

“Yeah.” 

Valencia pauses. She hadn’t been anticipating the answer but Heather doesn’t seem to mind. 

“Just as much as I’m into guys. I don’t care about gender conventions.” She stops for a moment, ticks her head to the side in a way that makes Valencia’s gut drop about ten feet below ground. Heather finishes: “So are you?” 

Valencia’s first gut reaction is to not respond, or to shuck it away. But there’s something about the way Heather’s looking at her prompts honesty over self-preservation. So she’s honest: “I’m not sure.” 

Heather, blunt as she is, cocks her head to the side to offer the most simple and loaded question she could have, “Do you wanna find out?”

 

 

And now Valencia’s lying on Heather’s bed, with Heather wringing two fingers against her clit, palm pressing into her cunt, and it’s good. It’s so good, Valencia actually whimpers. Her ears are ringing too loudly to know for sure, but she’s pretty certain Heather laughed. It’s a friendly laugh, not a giggle or a chuckle, but not anything insulting either. 

It’s just. A laugh. A Heather laugh. Valencia decides that she likes it.

Heather twists her hand and Valencia’s nails dig into her back. Heather’s mouth hovers over hers, hungry and rough in its hot restraint. Valencia can feel the vibrations of Heather’s words as she mutters, “If you wanna do me, you’re gonna have to cut those.” 

 And Valencia isn’t sure when in the night she became completely willing to say  adios  to her amazing manicure. Maybe it’s hormones talking when she cranes up into Heather’s mouth, closing the space between them, spasming between kisses. “ Hand me the damn clippers .”

Heather gives a small sigh and slides a hand up Valencia’s abs, pressing against the firm muscle. Eventually she circles around her breast. She rubs one dusky nipple between her thumb and forefinger. 

At Valencia’s gasp, both begins to knead at her clit and massage her breast. It’s overwhelming, not because she’s never experienced it before, but because she’s never felt this feeling in her gut to accompany the stimulation. 

That’s when Heather says, “V.” 

Wait. That’s not dirty talk. 

She manages to scratch out a half-coherent, “Hm?” as she directs her eyes to focus on Heather again. 

“Yeah, you’re sort of spacing out on me. And I kinda want you here for this.” 

But it’s not like Heather has to ask, because she twists her hand again, fingers sliding inside, rubbing all the right nerve endings. It’s enough to push Valencia back into the now as she cants into Heather’s hand. 

Valencia tries not to gasp. She’s in way too good of shape to get undone this easily. But there’s something about Heather, something in the way he wrist spasms or the way her mouth crashes against Valencia’s. Something about the flesh taste of her tongue. Something causes it all to make sense. 

All odd things make sense about as much as the fact Valencia’s coming. 

She’s arching up to the ceiling. Her toes are curling, the whole nine yards: coughing out distorted moans in a way that’s definitely  not hot. 

But, still, Heather’s eyes are darker than they were a while ago. With every pulse down her spine the re’s a throb into Heather’s palm as if it’s a fucking reward. 

For all Valencia knows, it  is a reward. But she can’t focus for the way her body shudders and releases. She’s too busy shaking out every last endorphin she’s got. 

 

They drink wine for the rest of the night. Spend the hours flipping through shitty-late night television, curled under the same blanket. It’s warm enough so they don’t have to change into anything but their bras and panties. 

 

 

So, it’s possible Rebecca’s rubbed off on Valencia a little bit. A teeny tiny bit. It’s the simple rules of reciprocity; Heather had spent the night before ringing orgasms from Valencia’s head to her toes. Valencia’s got this tiny feeling nagging at the back of her mind that, if she wants to keep on doing this, she has to return the favor.

Not that she wants to keep doing this but...well, let’s say she’s never come so hard so fast. She wouldn’t mind a reprisal of this.

“This’ being letting Heather wring out an orgasm from her like it’s as easy as going into child’s pose in a beginner’s class -- can she get a hell yeah? 

...hell yeah? 

The point is, she wanted to be able to return the favor for Heather. Which resulted in a night sifting through the first five pages of the Google Search for “How to have lesbian sex.” Even though neither of them are technically lesbians, so, maybe -- girl on girl sex? What was the term for that? Oh, whatever. The point is, Valencia wants to be good next time they hit the hay. 

 

 

The next time the hit they hay, happens to be the very next night. They were going to hit the movies; Heather was going to get a popcorn. Valencia was going to ascertain that she didn't want any because of the carbs and sneak a few pieces during the previews...and the film in general. 

They never make it to the cinema, however. The second Heather shows up at Valencia’s door, Valencia goes for it. That’s what the blog articles said to do, after all. Go for it. They would’ve had time, if Valencia had accounted for the fact girls take longer to get off, especially when you’re new to this. 

So, Heather showed up with her coupon for a “Couples’ Special.” 

Valencia took it as an invitation to fling her arms around Heather’s neck. She planted a huge kiss on those gorgeous lips, and walk backwards into her own home, as if to say:  Go ahead, do what you want in my house. And me, while you’re at it. 

 

 

But it seems to be Valencia who’s doing the odd confessions. Because one second Heather’s standing in her doorway. The next second she’s sitting on the couch spread eagle. And the next Valencia’s trying to remember the tip from GurlySexGoddess69andsome on some website called Tumblr. Other than “Communication,” (which she isn’t about to try). 

And she does. Licking and sucking and taking in the taste which is way more stimulating than she’d hoped it’d be. (Seriously: if she hadn’t written off masturbation as sin before she’d first completed Confirmation, she’d be touching herself on the heady taste of Heather’s cunt.) All she’s left to do is rely on online tutorials, like she’d done with humor, and hope it works.

Heather arches off the coffee table and hooks her legs behind Valencia’s head. Even if they don’t talk about it, Valencia thinks the online tutorials did their job.

And, yes, she’s shocked by how much harder humor is than giving a girl head, but she isn‘t about to fixate. 

Like, who is she? Rebecca?  

 

But by now she and Heather are pressed up to each other. Each with a few fingers inside each other, the other clasping in the other’s chest, rutting and grinding into each other. 

Keeping that in mind, she slowly creeps down Heather. She’s nipping at Heather’s breast, her abs (which could’ve been mistaken for yoga abs any day of the week for their tone). And she can’t help but pause for a moment between her legs. 

Valencia isn’t stupid. She knows what this means. She knows going forward and burying her tongue into Heather’s sweet clit means any number of confessions and Hail Marys. But she can’t help but wonder what it will taste like. 

The idea of Heather’s taste captures Valencia’s mind and it worries her, how few other topics interest her. She'd rather talk about the tangy-bitter taste of Heather’s cunt than the price of her own yoga studio, or the proper form for a downward dog. And that’s saying something. She wants to feel her own fingers buried inside Heather in a way she’s never felt towards another human being. She wants to feel them warm and snug and stimulating any number of nerve endings. 

What does it mean to make another person moan, she wonders. For the first time in her life, sex isn't a means to an end. It’s an exploration of two bodies and minds entangled in one another in a way she’d never quite considered before. In a way, it’s terrifying.

In another, it’s liberating. She’d never before considered the tart taste of another girl’s cunt. And especially not as that same other girl tugs at her hair, displaying more emotion than she’d ever saw come torpedoing out of Heather like a gunshot. 

 

 

And, so, like the online tutorials suggest, she starts off with heavy petting. With left hands under clothes and the right clutching at cotton. She lowers herself between Heather’s knees and licks a long long between her slit. It tastes sour, but she can't help but wonder, deep down in her gut, if this is what's been missing the whole time. 

Bottom line: she likes this. Tasting another girl’s cunt, stretching the muscles, sore in her own mouth. Listening to the gasps and small moans and the fact this is  Heather,  of all people, makes it stand out. 

Bottom line: she’s not sure if she’s a lesbian or bi or whatever. She hasn't looked enough into the mess of sexuality to be sure. But, she’s pretty sure she would go every day for the rest of her life sucking on Heather’s cunt and never even question the years she wasted on Josh. After all, it all came together to bring her here; bracketed between Heather’s knees.

 

\-- Or, as she finds later in the night, Heather’s knees bracketing her hips, and she’s sinking into her, when Heather...pulls away. 

And, Heather, being her direct self, blurts out, “No, no.” 

Dammit. 

“What? What did I do?” Valencia can’t help but blink, retracting her hands like they’re caught in rat traps.

 “Not like that,” Heathe says, simple and to the point, taking Valencia’s hands back in her own and drawing it between her thighs. Valencia’s fingertips hit warmth, and Heather’s breath hitches, and she nods hastily, “Okay. Go on.”

And Valencia can’t help but laugh, giggle a little even, at the abruptness, at the quickness of Heather’s adjustment. How this girl knows what she wants and isn’t afraid to get it out of Valencia. 

It’s admirable. If Heather wasn’t straddling Valencia’s hips, and if Valencia wasn’t knuckle deep inside Heather, she might want to bring out her competitive streak. 

Hell, she might want to anyway. Once she’s done proving she  can make Heather shake she can move on to making Heather shake harder than Heather can make her shake. 

But, the closer Valencia gets Heather to nirvana, the less she cares about that idea. The less she cares about anything about herself, and the more she cares about seeing what noises Heather can make, deep in her throat. 

 

 

 

Heather likes it when Valencia licks up her slit. When it’s deep and taking in all the sticky remnants of lovers’ past like some Christmas ghost. When it’s picking up the new memories and dreams. When she’s kneading at her breast and knowing exactly what she needs when the physicality has been drug on. 

Heather likes it when Valencia is leaving lipstick stains on her cunt. When she’s got two fingers rotating over her nipples, two fingers kneading on her lips and a tongue flattening against her clit.

All in all, Online Articles 1, Going in Blind, 0. 

And, maybe, Valencia gets an extra point or two, with the way Heather keens in on her tongue. She can’t help but notice the way Heather bucks against her nose. The way Heather’s keening a soft musical sound that almost sounds like a chord. Disrupting the sound of the slick rupture of bodies with yelps and moans and wet lapping of muscle against muscle. Of tongue against clit. Of the  satisfaction that comes with causing someone as cool and collected as Heather to arch off her mattress, to curl her toes, to cough out curses and jutted consonants like “V--V” and “more,” or “left,” or “right.” 

And, soon (that is, within a few days) Valencia figures out what Heather likes. 

And Heather figures out what Valencia likes. 

When they trade places, and Heather’s licking stripes up her clit, her stomach, her breasts, collarbone, and her  mouth . It all still tastes, vaguely, like Valencia herself. Even if that thought hinges on self-absorbed, it’s hypnotic. 

Kissing Heather is a new phenomena in itself, Valencia finds. That warm feeling of skin on skin isn’t something foreign, but the smaller frame is a comfort, more flexible, slower in stamina. She can’t help herself from thinking, before she can banish the thought. It’s something she can appreciate more, something in the soft angles that she can dance her fingers across like a ballet or a sun salutation. Something in the sweep of hip to waist. Something in the direct way Heather’s eyes are like dark embers culling her in, bringing her to her knees like a sucker punch. The way her lips are soft and curved over hers. The way her tongue tastes.

 Long story short, Valencia understands why guys are so willing to rip up the earth around them for a chance at seeing a girl undone.

And for the chance of undoing her. 

Heather, undone, is rare. She’s so  calm,  all the time, that the chance to see her shudder is gorgeous. 

Heather’s gorgeous, in her own way, all the time. But especially when she’s on her back, or hovered over or next to Valencia. 

It takes a while, but Valencia figures out how to best swerve the pads of her fingertips inside Heather. She figures out how Heather likes it best with two fingers dodging around but not precisely  on  the clit. Valencia adds another finger rotating around the outskirts of skin, her rhythms, her patterns, the way she flushes, stark against the sheets, pulses.

 

 

They’re both aware Rebecca’s coming back tomorrow. The idea of something, even the return of a good friend, ripping up this odd sort of harmony they’ve had. 

This odd harmony that involves going out, acting like any other good girl friends...not girlfriends (at least, Valencia thinks. She’s still not 100% sure what girl friends do, opposed to girlfriends or otherwise). And then they go back to either her place, or Heather’s, and... _hang out_ for an hour…

Or two. 

 

 

 

 

Valencia listens to Rihanna’s  _Te Amo_ on repeat while cleaning her apartment. She burns sage, and throws away everything that reminds her, even vaguely, of Josh without a second thought. 

 

 

 

 

Rebecca comes back from Passover, and things seem to go back to normal, except for the fact Valencia can’t look Heather in the eye anymore. She can’t, lest she see her eyes roll back in her head. Or collapse into nostalgia thinking about the way her lips felt around those nipples. Or about the way Heather’s hair looked sweat-slicked against her skull.

 

 

 

All in all, everything’s the same, except for 2/3rds of the Girl Squad can’t even stand to look one another in the eye. 

 

 

And Rebecca catches on to it, because of course Rebecca catches onto it. But, she doesn’t draw the logical conclusion her two current besties spent the whole of Passover wrapt up in a tangle of sore limbs. 

With the re-entrance of their mutual friend, any kind of spell or wall that’d protected their…. whatever this was,  shattered on contact. 

And now they’re left, listening to Rebecca talk about her problems with her mother and probe them for whatever had happened while she was away. Like they would tell her. 

 Valencia has no way of knowing if Heather would puncture their undiscussed secrecy. There’s a part of Valencia that’s certain Heather won’t, that she’ll keep it between them. But there’s another part, the vindictive part, that wants her to shout it on the rooftops. That Heather likes women, that she’s good enough in bed that she’s clearly done stuff with other women before…

And it’s only until these thoughts enter Valencia’s mind she realizes, those aren’t thoughts for threats. If anything, they’re fantasy. 

Either way, she makes a point not to engage with Heather for another week. No interaction whatsoever until she can find an online tutorial for this or she finds out this is something girl friends are supposed to do. 

 

 

For the next two days,  Valencia’s search history looks like this: 

>   _friends with benefits_
> 
> _ Friends with benefits, woman/woman,  _
> 
> _ am I in a friends with benefits?  _
> 
> _ How to be in a friends with benefits _
> 
> _ How to be in friends with benefits, woman/woman  _
> 
> _ Do i want to be in a friends with benefits? _
> 
> _ how can i tell if i like someone _
> 
> _ do i like my friend _
> 
> _ Oh my God I think I like her.  _

 

That last one didn’t get her fantastic results, but it wasn’t like she was paying attention at that point. 

 

 

Rebecca texts her on the eighth day after she gets back: 

 

**BEX**

** (11:02pm)  **

Hey! So, is everything okay with you and Heather? 

 

 

Granted, what Valencia had  wanted to say was something cool and collected. Something to give the impression of peachy-keen. Something that didn’t allude to the fact she and Heather had spent the past eight and a half days screwing each other’s brains out. 

Suddenly, it seems Real…

What she ended up saying was more...secretive. 

 

 

** ~ VALENCIA ~ **

** (11:25pm)  **

why wouldnt it be? 

 

Great. Bulletproof. She hadn’t wanted to respond in such a defensive tone, but she’d had a glass or two of rosé. And she’d pressed the ‘Send’ button before she could stop herself. 

Valencia loves Rebecca, don’t get her wrong, it’s ...Rebecca has a  tiny  habit of taking things too far…

 

 

Like now, for example, with Heather, Valencia, and Rebecca all wearing their #girlsquad tees over a bottle of wine. Heather’s slouching and meditating on the high of her life. Rebecca’s going on and on about ‘friend bonding.’ Valencia, meanwhile, can’t get the sound of Heather’s husky moans out of her ears.

“And, anyway, that’s why I’m so happy we all got to get together tonight. It feels like ages,” Rebecca continues on her tangent. It’s nice to know some dynamics haven’t changed. Valencia isn’t sure why her dynamic with Rebecca would’ve changed, but it’s nice to get confirmation it hadn’t. 

“Hey, Rebecca,” Heather interrupts. It startles Valencia, for half a breath. Or, well, not so much startles, as grabs her interest. Same thing. Heather continues despite Valencia’s inner monologue: “Why don’t you go to the kitchen and get some wine?” 

Rebecca ticks her head to the side, looking for all the world like a cocker spaniel, “We have a half-full bottle left.” 

“This is rosé. Red or white’s better with the cheese.” She looks around herself and adds, “The summer between my first and second junior years I took a wine tasting seminar to de-stress.” 

“Well, we don’t have to break out the cheese plate yet…” 

“I’m  starving,”  Heather says, reaching over the table, direct in her movements, and tops off her own glass. 

Valencia thinks she gets the what Heather’s trying to do. She hopes it doesn’t come across as rude. She guess it’s possible this is something okay to do when the group hangs together, and she adds in, “I guess the bottle’s half empty now.”

 

 

Rebecca bites on her lip, visibly holding a retort, and she’s more than a little pouty when she nods and says, “Okay. Be back in a flash. Which, by the way, is a fantastic show.” 

She’s narrating her way to the kitchen, but the second she flees eyeshot, Heather spins towards Valencia. “You know you don’t have to dodge me, right?” 

Valencia quirks a brow and tries to look innocent. It’s times like these she wishes she’d kept those wings from the Hometown Hotties shoot. “What do you mean?” 

Heather rolls her eyes, and as much as Valencia doesn’t appreciate the snark, she can’t say she blames her. “Look, I know how to be friends with people I’ve slept with. You don’t have to worry about me, like, outing you or deciding I love you, or anything.” 

“That’s not what I’m worried about.” It comes out faster than Valencia means it to. 

Heather pauses. They can hear Rebecca shuffling around in the kitchen, banging the cupboard doors, probably jumping up on countertops. Valencia’s glad; it gives her something to listen to other than the excitement building up in her gut. 

“So, what are you worried about?” 

And Valencia can’t quite pin it down, so she looks into her hands, and sits up straighter, “I’m not sure.” 

“Great.” 

Valencia can’t help but frown. “What?” 

“Like, I get being indecisive, but this is kinda a big deal. I just wanna know where you’re coming from.” 

And Valencia can’t stand the idea of Heather pouting like this, even if she looks incredibly hot while she’s sulking. Even though she doesn’t know where Heather wants to take this, she can still hear Rebecca in the kitchen so she figures it’s safe. She wraps her hands around either side of Heather’s neck, and pulls her in. Her lips are sweet and soft and she kisses so much softer now than she had for the past week, and with each kiss piling on top of the other. Valencia’s pretty damn sure she’d be happy with any variation, as long as it’s with Heather

“ Okay,  so I can’t find the corkscrew---” Rebecca blurts, crashing into the room and breaking any kind of bubble of intimacy they’ve got. 

Valencia barely breaks the seal between her and Heather’s mouths. However, they both turn their heads, still hovering in each other’s air. 

Rebecca’s standing there, fish-eyed, with a bottle of wine in her fists. “ Oh,”  She says. And that’s it. That’s all Rebecca the Chatterbox can get out of her mouth. Valencia was pretty sure it’d be funny if she understood humor better.

“Yeah, that’s my fault,” Heather shifts on the couch, removing the corkscrew from her back pocket. “I decided to try this whole  Antic  thing you’re so crazy about.” 

Rebecca accepts the corkscrew halfheartedly. She’s lost in one of her daydreams. Both Valencia and Heather know better than to engage with her while she’s on a mental field trip. 

“So, you want to try this?” Heather asks, turning back to Valencia, more reserved than before. Valencia knots Heather’s hair in her fists again, coming together for what was probably the thousandth time and might as well have been the first.

 

 

 


End file.
